


Your Cologne Smells A Lot Like Bullshit

by Danis_HySTEREKal_Romance



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, BAMF Danny, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Beacon Hills, Break Up, Danny Mahealani & Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek Loves Stiles, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek is a Failwolf, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Eternal Sterek, Everybody Wants Stiles, F/M, Gay Sex, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Violence, Mystic Falls, Needy Derek, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Protective Lydia, Sad Derek, Sterek Campaign, Sterek Campaign Teen Wolf Charity Project, Sterek Free Ficathon, SterekFest, Stiles Leaves, Stiles Loves Derek, Stiles is Derek's Anchor, Stiles is Not a Virgin, Vampire Diaries Crossover, Very Minor, Witchcraft, Witches, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4547736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danis_HySTEREKal_Romance/pseuds/Danis_HySTEREKal_Romance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody puts Stiles in a corner!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: We all know that I don't own the Teen Wolf characters, Jesus Christ. If I did they'd be chained in my basement with mugshots on your milk cartons and wedding rings identical to mine.</p><p>Also, don't steal my work dickheads. No permission given for placement on other sites unless you ask, but links to my fics don't count I guess. Spread the word on this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Breaking Point

Let it be known that Stiles is a patient man.

He's dealt with Werewolves, a Kanima, a Nogistune, a freak-in-the-sheets Coyote, an Alpha Pack, Witches, what looked like a Kracken, a fucking OGRE, and a crazy ass uncle who refuses to just DIE all in the span of six years. Quite frankly he's surprised he made it through high school let alone to twenty-two. Two of the aforementioned years were spent as the decidedly happy mate of Alpha Derek Hale, an emotionally constipated pain in his ass but love of his life.

The last two years, to be specific.

They have stuck together through thick and thin, through betrayal and new alliances, through loss and through gain. It's been a rough ride on a bumpy road filled with potholes of death, he'll give you that. But it's always worth it in the end. His determination, iron will, and badly timed dirrhea of the mouth have all been paid back in full.

Well, not full, but you get the point. Or, well, Allison and Aiden got the ACTUAL point, but fuck that train of thought. 

The case being made here is that the pack has been bruised, shredded, bitten, and even killed yet strong they stand. Or as strong as they can get after years of chaos and ample time to mourn. Derek has done brilliantly with Stiles serving as the *ahem* BETTER half of the Alpha Pair. They balance each other out and show the others what a soul deep bond can blossom into and all the joys that come with it.

Well, that and the shit load of angst Stiles generally tends to tamp down on. Can't be the weak mage, right? Forgive and forget, roll with the punches. 

Prime example being on a Friday afternoon in the middle of the preserve, golden sunlight streaming through gently swaying treetops as Stiles lays stomach-up on a checkered blanket, Tupper ware in hand.

"It's fine, Stilinski. He's probably just stuck in traffic, or maybe he ran out of gas. Or, or maybe he stopped to get you a present!" A shiver of anticipation flitted down the knobs of Stiles' spine as he gave himself a pre-date pep talk. 

Every couple of Friday's Stiles and Derek met up at the exact same spot on the preserve for a date. Derek had called it necessary bonding, while Stiles generally referred to it as "a prelude to sexytimes, Werewolf-style." They would find a time and date they agreed on and mark it on the calendar as a reminder. Today, however, Derek was fifteen minutes late. Derek Hale was NEVER late without good reason.

Besides, Derek promised to make up for his little... incident a week ago, before the supernatural shit storm hit.

So Stiles, being the patient little mate he is (ha!), waited ten more minutes before finally texting his husband.

To LOVERWOLF (12:55 pm): Hey, babe, everything okay?

After no immediate reply came, he texted again.

To LOVERWOLF (12:58 pm): Derek?

It took every last ounce of his control to last a grand total of thirty seconds before punching his number in and calling. The dial tone was off putting and a growing knot of fear twisted in Stiles' belly as he got the same response for each of his three placed calls. In a panicked haze, Stiles flew to his jeep, which was parked not even twenty feet from where he'd been sitting, leaving the food and blanket forgotten.

Stiles heartbeat was by now off the scale, he was so overcome with desperation to find his mate, his husband, his Derek. Just as he was pulling into the driveway of the newly remodeled Hale House (now Stilinski-Hale, thank you very much) his phone began blasting Survivor by Destiny's Child. He picked up.

"Isaac?"

A loud gust of air was heard through the speaker. "Stiles, thank God! Are you alright? Derek said he was picking up some pretty alarming vibes from your end of the bond." 

Time stood still. "What did you say?" 

"Um," Isaac sounded wary at the icy tone of Stiles' question. "I said, Derek told us he was bombarded with scary feelings from your half of the mate bond. Is everything okay?" 

"Define 'us' for me, Isaac."

"Uh, me, obviously, Derek... and, um, Jackson."

Stiles counted up to five, held his breath for four, and blew it out for three. He repeated this until he felt he was able to speak without his voice breaking. Giving Derek the benefit of the doubt, Stiles asked, "Isaac, Babywolf, does Derek know the date by chance?"

"His phone must have reset itself again," he heard Derek grumble. "Tell him it's Friday the 14th."

Tears of frustration threatened to spill from Stiles' eyes as what Derek said sank in. Derek knew the date. Derek IGNORED the date. Derek ditched Stiles. For not only Isaac, but fucking JACKSON of all people. Thinking back on it, he had been acting really off these past few weeks, what with the ogre and Liam's untimely kidnapping that had cause the postponing of their last date till God-knows-when. More distant, less tactive and lovey dovey. 

More violent.

"Stiles? Are you there?" 

A giggle escaped him. "Yeah. Yes. When am I not?" 

Muffled voices were heard on the other end, as well as loud guffaw that Stiles knew for a fact was Derek's. He was obviously enjoying himself while remaining oblivious to the pain Stiles was neck deep in. As was usual lately.

"Isaac, how long do you think you'll be?"

"Oh, I don't know." More whispering. "A solid two hours, maybe three."

"Great. Goodbye, Isaac."

Stiles hangs up before he an even reply, switching off the Jeep's engine with a heavy heart. The door takes four tries to open with his shaky hands and when he finally manages it, he all but collapses against the hood.

Stiles was suddenly, OVERWHELMINGLY, tired. He didn't want to keep waiting for his brick wall of a lover to open up, or at least stop giving him the cold shoulder. Four weeks of that really weighs down on a guy. Derek was obviously done with him. He just wanted to be alone in his heartache, wallow in no one's presence but his own. And maybe Lydia, if she was up for it. Yeah, that sounded good.

And so, with a depressing finality, Stiles turned and made his way up the steps.

He was done being patient.


	2. Oh, Shit

"Well, that was weird."

Jackson rolls his eyes before returning his oh-so-valuable attention back to his bottle of Wolfsbane laced alcohol. "It's just Stiles, Isaac. Don't look into it so much."

Isaac plops back down next to Derek on the couch, deep in thought. "Don't you think he sounded a bit off to you?" 

"Nope. Got to say Jackson's right on this one." 

Jackson pats Derek on the shoulder before taking a giant swig of his beer. "Damn straight." 

Derek looks around the living room of Jackson and Lydia's three story Victorian home, absentmindedly wondering where he left his phone. After a few minutes of hazy, half-assed, immobile searching he gives up. Isaac still doesn't look nearly as comfortable as he had been before Stiles had cut into their afternoon of movie watching and beer guzzling. Well, Isaac didn't drink, but Jackson and Derek sure as hell did.

"Isaac," Derek ran through his unruly blonde curls before settling back against the cushions. "Be calm."

"I think he's having a bit of separation anxiety, aren't you, Babywolf?"

"Shut the hell up, asshole. Only mom can call me that." 

Jackson snorts messily. "Whatever."

Derek tilts his head back and closes his eyes. He's only had two beers, but be still feelz a bit buzzed. He had refused to take anymore since he was his own chauffeur tonight. He idly wonders if Stiles would be up for some body shots when he gets home. Stiles likes to get plastered and have hot, drunken sex after.

It's truly great.

"I so did not need to know that." Jackson makes a graphic gagging noise while Isaac just looks horrified. Seems like his brain-to-mouth filter is on break. 

Whoops.

"You know, on that note, has Cora said anything to you recently? Anything odd?"

Derek turns to gaze inquiringly at Isaac, who looks like he wants to hide. "Odd how?"

"Like," the blonde Werewolf appears at war with himself. "Has she mentioned any dissatisfaction with the sex we're having?"

Beside him, Jackson's choking on the last of his beer, bringing the blush on Isaac's cheeks down his neck. Derek, being the great Alpha he is, shoves Jackson headfirst off the couch and into the coffee table. "Quiet time, Jacks. Quiet time." While he lay groaning on the floor recovering, Derek stands up and flicks Isaac in the ear, illiciting a startled yelp.

"If you ever say my sister's name and sex to me in the same sentence again, you'll be Babywolf the Dickless Wonder." And with that he exits the house. 

As he strolls to his Camaro he can hear the conversation as it continues, grinning when he hears Jackson weakly curse his name. He really enjoys getting to finally be close with his Betas, who so often get into trouble. This past month has been incredible, with interesting nights out with the boys to slightly less inetersting, but still fun shopping trips with the girls.

Stiles has been increasingly busy and hard to get one on one time with though, besides sex. That is still a constant... oh, yeah.

Everything else? Always placed on the back burner, with his main concern being pack bonding and the supernatural crap that keeps interfering with their lives. He already had Stiles, they were tied for life, no matter what. The rest of the pack? Not so much.

Inside the vehicle with a dead battery (his luck) is his iPhone. Starting the engine and checking the dash, Derek sees it's already bordering on 3:00 pm. Funny how quickly time can pass when you're tipsy. 

From the Whittemore house it's only a twenty minute drive to his and Stiles' house, and that is with traffic. Derek spends most of those minutes watching the scenery pass in a blur of green, stopping only once for a stoplight. The longer he thinks of Stiles, the more intense his lust becomes. God, how he can't wait to get home and fuck his mate's sweet ass. Better yet, Stiles might be feeling a bit kinky and bring out the Mountain Ash ropes for a little domination.

His mouth waters at the thought.

Pulling into his driveway he notices that Betty, Stiles' jeep, is absent. Sighing, Derek tries to push down his disappointment and slides out of the car, snatching up his phone on the way.

Immediately upon entering his home Derek senses something different, like a shift in the fung shui of the house. Minutely unnverved, he shrugs it off as he connects his phone to the USB charger plugged into his laptop, which sits alone on the kitchen table. Where Stiles' own laptop is supposed to be.

"Must've taken it to Starbucks again." Derek smiles fondly as he pictures his husband chugging eight cups of caffeine while simultaneously researching the next monster rolling into town. 

Stripping his jacket off, followed by his boots and socks, the chiseled Alpha makes his way through the house and up the staircase. He figures he'll wait in the bedroom until Stiles comes back, then proceed to sex him right. But upon entering their room Derek freezes, 100% certain that something is wrong. 

Stiles' scent is fresh, as though he's been there recently, but where their mixed scents usually underlied everything... there is only Derek's. 

Derek walks briskly over to their joint bathroom and pops open the door. The vast array of his mate's toiletries that usually comandeer a good three quarters of the marble countertop have vanished. A fast but thorough investigation of the drawers and cupboards prove the same. Stiles' bathroom items are gone.

Trying to think nothing of it (maybe he just wanted to clean up a bit), Derek strides over to their respectable walk in closets and enters Stiles'.-

"What the fuck?"

There, in the middle of the empty space, sits a lone box handcrafted out of crushed red velvet. A single name is emblazoned in gold across the top: Stiles. Derek would recognize it from anywhere...

But of course he would. He proposed to Stiles with it, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit, Derek!


	3. Supernatural Heartbreak

"I know, honey, I know." 

Lydia's dainty hands were cool in contrast to the molten lava Stiles' skin felt like. They'd been lying in bed for a good half hour in her secret apartment downtown with nothing on but their underwear, Lydia offering automatic sanctuary when an exhausted Stiles showed up to her business lugging eight suitcases and asking to rent out her guest bedroom. 

She'd one upped him.

Stiles' frown only deepens as he thinks about how once upon a time, she had been all he'd ever wanted. Now, though? 

Now dream lovers were best friends.

"I just- God, Lyds, I just wish he'd stop!" Sobs wrack his lithe frame once more as Lydia clutches him close to her chest. "I don't know what I did wrong!" 

The Banshee shushes him gently, tightening her hold. Her heart breaks for her best friend and her fury burns for Derek Hale.

"You know damn well you did nothing wrong, Sti." Lydia brushes his limp bangs off his forehead and places a tender kiss between his eyebrows. 

"N-n-no, I must h-have. Lyds, I barely s-see him anymore... he ditched our d-d-date!"

"He has been acting strange, hasn't he?" Lydia murmurs, "I wonder why that is." 

Stiles sniffles, his sobs quieted by the comforting presence of the redhead. He watches as her face scrunches up delicately when she enters her Deep Thought Mode. The male begins to internally berate himself for giving up on his romantic pursuits for her, even though he knows he'd receive just as much heartache as Derek is giving him.

"Do you think, my intellectual twin, that maybe something else is at play?" Lydia bites her plump lower lip before groaning. "Who am I kidding, the pack would've smelled it by now."

Stiles pats her had unconciously. "A for effort, but I had the same thought process. He's not showing any signs of increasing detachment, he reminds me that he loves me... sometimes... and he seems to be getting along just fine with the pack. Just not..."

"... with you. Hmm. What a peculiar, infuriating situation. Let's just kill him."

Giggling, Stiles nuzzles the Banshee right above her heart. Though they had a tough start in their relationship, it's at full affect now and Stiles couldn't be more proud to call her his best friend. Yes, Scott, you mindless ignoramous. You've been replaced.

Stiles pouts. "Murder is illegal in all 50 states, Lyds."

She hums in reluctant agreement, clearly concocting ways to off his husband without any evidence.

After a few more moments of silence, the red-haired beauty ruffles his hair. "Want to watch The Notebook and eat all my icecream?"

He opens his mouth to say "Yes, you perfect specimen, will you also be the surrogate for my babies?", but is interrupted by the shrill ringing of his best friend's phone. 

She answers with a sharp, "What, Derek?"

Stiles immediately curls further in on himself, causing Lydia's angelic face to become absolutely demonic.

"Oh, really?" She mock gasps to the frantic voice on the other end. "You don't say. All his stuff?"

Closing his eyes, the young spark just barely cracks open the bond between him and Derek, which he had blocked off once he'd reached Lydia. Instantly, a painful trickle of fear, confusion, and devastation slams into him. Uncomfortable with the sudden attack on his heart, the mage seals it once again.

His best friend is still on the phone, idly running her hands up and down his back with a steady rhythm. "And he left his ring? Good, good. Yes, I said good, you ungrateful bastard!"

Stiles flinches, shocked that Lydia has the balls to stand up to her Alpha like that.

Okay, not THAT shocked.

"You've been treating him like shit for a month, Derek! He needs a break from all your emotionally constipated, rock solid, indigested shit!"

"Lyds, settle down. It's fine."

The Banshee bops him on the crown of his head and mumbles a quick "Shut it, Stilinski!" before returning to Derek, whose voice has risen to concerning levels. 

"Yes, so what if I'm with him? He's not your property, Hale. Fuck. Off." A pause. "I'm not telling him shit! You think a simple 'sorry' is going to mend him? You ditched him today and that was the last straw, dammit!"

The other line goes silent.

Huffing victoriously, Lydia plows on. "That's right, I know all about your date ditching. I also know about you slapping Stiles, my BEST FRIEND and YOUR MATE, a week and a half ago." She's breathing heavy by now, her sparkling green eyes flaming with the heat of her anger. "And don't forget when you told him to get over his mother's death on its anniversary, because you're such a shining example of fucking moving on!"

There is a barely audible whisper on the other end before the line clicks off.

Lydia shifts her bewildered stare to his matching one. "Well, shit. The wolf is on the prowl. You feel up for a game of hide and seek?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. I surprise myself sometimes.


	4. Can't Let It Go

The phone hits the bed with a low thud, followed by a drained Derek Hale. His eyes rimmed red and his ring finger still healing from all the chafing his anxiety caused as he repeatedly slips his ring on and off. All he can think is: Lydia knows. Stiles took his mistakes and shared them with Lydia. The smell of saltwater and his own sadness is nearly suffocating but Derek can't find it in himself to leave. 

He has to be there when Stiles gets back.

Because he will be back. Stiles would never LEAVE leave his husband. They're mates, you can't just disregard that monumental fact. Right? 

Right?

He is up in a heartbeat, pounding down the stairs at breakneck speed and tugging on his boots. Fuck the jacket, he's a Werewolf for fuckssake. And even if he was human, sixty degrees wouldn't kill him. 

Adrenaline coursing through his veins and grief through his soul, Derek Hale hops in his car and speeds off. He needed to find Stiles an entire month ago, but was too busy fucking up to see what he was doing wrong. 

EARLIER THAT MONTH

"Sshhh, babe, it's okay. Just breathe, alright? Deep breath in... deep breath out... there you go."

"I-I-I'm sorry, I'm try-trying, Der. I just... I just miss her so much!"

Stiles' broken cries are like little daggers to Derek's heart, poking more and more holes every time. He drags a comforting hand over the back of the head buried face first in his neck, cooing sweet words into his hair.

"I promise it'll be okay, Sti." A kiss to the messy brown hair. "We'll get through it together." 

His mate burrows even closer, winding their legs together beneath the blankets and attempting to choke back his tears. Derek just adjusts his position to better suit him.

"I love you, Little Red."

"Love you, too, Sourwolf."

Something happens then. Something in Derek just sort of... snaps. 

"Really, Stiles? I'm sitting here holding you, reassuring you, making you feel better about someone who has been dead for YEARS and you want to call me sour?"

The mage stiffens in his arms as the Alpha continues, "If I was sour I wouldn't be here right now, would I? No, I'd be out the fucking door doing something useful, like preparing for the upcoming boundary meeting with the San Francisco pack."

Stiles pulls away, eyes dry and offended beyond belief. "Well, goddamn, Derek. If I'd known what a inconvenience I was to you I never would have asked!" He untangled their limbs and slides off the bed. "You can fuck yourself tonight, Derek. Since you're the only one over the death of a family member. The only one STABLE in this relationship. Because it's not like you've been holding onto the guilt of your ENTIRE FAMILY'S MURDER for OVER A DECADE, right?" 

Just as soon as it came, the anger is gone. "Sti, come back to bed. I'm sorry, I'm just stressed. I don't know where that came from. You are the farthest thing from an inconvenience!"

"Nope, nope, nopity-nope, Derek Hale. I'm going to go mourn my mother in the guest bedroom tonight, because God knows I can't do it here. I don't want to intrude on whatever important business you'll be getting wrapped up in."

Derek scrambles out of the bed as his husband makes his way angrily down the hall. "Baby, I'm sorry, of course you can mourn here!" He goes on when Stiles keeps walking. "Stiles, I love you!"

The door slams in his face.

LAST WEEK

Glass shatters against the wall as yet another plate is lobbed at Stiles, who's breathing heavily in his attempts at dodging them.

"Der, please calm down. I just wanted to do something to cheer you-"

"How is cooking Laura's Yule Log going to cheer me up, Stiles? I specifically told you to NOT go anywhere near that chests in the attic and what did you do?" Derek grabs his husband by the collar of his button up and slams him against the wall. "What did you do!"

At this point Stiles is whimpering, batting at the claws digging through his shirt and into his skin. "Please, please let me down. I'm s-sorry."

"No."

Stiles glances up meekly. "No?" 

"No, you're not sorry. Not yet."

And with that Derek drags his disobedient mate up the stairs and into their bedroom. A foreign feeling of discomfort in his own body is running through him, edging him into that familiar territory of hatred for anything and everything. He's not sure where such strong feelings are coming from, knows he should stop, he doesn't really want to hurt the man he loves more than his own life. 

Yet he still slaps him. 

The action sends him sprawling across the floor, crying out weakly. Derek is heaving huge gulps of air into his lungs, regret and shame immediately making an appearance on his conscience. Stiles lifts his head, eyes glowing white. His magic feels threatened.

"Baby, no, I'm so sorry!" Stiles crabwalks himself away from Derek's searching claws until his back is against the wall. "Babe..."

"Get out."

Derek flinches. "What?"

"I SAID you need to GET. OUT."

Derek whines low in his throat and steps forward just a smidgen. He didn't mean it. Oh, God how he didn't mean it. He tentatively reaches a declawed hand out to his shaking mate, just to have him curl in on himself. 

"Sti-"

A strong blast of power vaults him off his feet and out of the room, into the hallway banister, causing the sturdy wood to splinter as he ricochets off of it and onto the floor.

"If you ever want me to forgive your stupid, arrogant, ungrateful, and now ABUSIVE Werewolf ass, you will LEAVE.ME.ALONE!"

PRESENT DAY

"God, Stiles, please forgive me." Derek slams his fist against the steering wheel and glares at the house he's parked in front of. "But I need to find you."

He doesn't even bother shutting his door, just bolts up the porch steps and knocks as adamantly as possible. Not even a minute later the door swings open to reveal one hell of a shocked Hawaiian. 

"Please tell me the Kracken isn't back."

Derek shoves past him into the foyer. "Danny, I need you."

"Like," Danny gives him an appreciative once over, "you need my body or my skills? There's one I'd prefer to the other. "

"Yes, Danny, a married, MATED Werewolf needs your sexual experience to save the world." And cue the unimpressed look. "Stiles is missing and I need to track him."

Danny's eyes widen as he all but sprints to his desk, opening up multiple windows as he speaks. "When was he taken? Do you know WHO took him? Does he have his phone? I could work with that."

Derek wipes a hand down his face. "Track Lydia's too. They're together, I think."

"Lydia's missing too? Oh God, Jackson is going to flip!" 

"No, no, she's hiding Stiles... from me."

Danny stops abruptly. The WHAT THE FUCK is clear in his expression.

Derek sighs. "Long story short, IkindofscrewedupalotandmaybeevenhitmyhusbandandnowIthinkhemayhatemeandIneedtofindhimbecauseIneedandlovehim."

Silence reigns for a solid five minutes. Danny has his lips pursed and eyes narrowed like he doesn't like what he sees and the Alpha is surprisingly sad to see that expression aimed at him. Finally, the human huffs out a breath.

"Okay. I'll help on one condition."

Derek bobs his head eagerly. "Anything."

"You make a very large, very heartfelt declaration of your love to Stiles, followed by an apology. If you do neither, the pack will be beating your ass into Beta-hood without hesitation. "

"Um. Okay. Threat noted."

Danny swivels around to face his computer screen again, throwing one last glance over his shoulder at the nearly quivering, remorseful Werewolf. "And Derek?"

"Danny?"

"Control your rage or you'll see mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much angst!


	5. Hide and Seek, You Wanna Play?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the abuse has thrown a lot of you off, but have faith in Sterek and me and we won't steer you wrong. It will be okay.

It's been two days since Stiles vanished.

"Are you sure this will work?" 

Lydia sends the mage a searing glare for doubting her intelligence. "You know as well as I do that Wolfsbane deafens the senses as well as physically hurts Werewolves, Sti."

"I don't want him to get hurt, though." Stiles protests. Upon seeing her face he backtracks, "I meant I didn't want to see him hurt TOO much."

"He's not actually going to touch the shit, you dumbass. We're just going to rub it on a few items you passed on your way here so that he can't track you by scent. It has worked for the past couple of days I've done it."

To prove her point the Banshee rubs a clump of the weed-like substance on a fire hydrant, then a few steps forward onto the light pole. Stiles hums appreciatively when she bends over to cover a chair leg outside of the pizza place. How she can make a pair of sweats and a crop top look runway-worthy, the world may never know.

They carry on like this for about a mile, making meaningless small talk, before heading back towards the condo building. They're almost out of Wolfsbane and need to distribute the rest carefully. 

"We probably look like batshit crazy stoners right now, Lyds."

"It's 8:00 at night in downtown Beacon Hills, Stiles. We're the least worrisome activity here."

The brown haired male let's loose a rumbling laugh that bounces off the walls of the courtyard they just sauntered into, sending a cluster of pigeons flying. "I swear you got your humor from me, Wailing Woman. "

"Not humour, Magic Man; the truth." They share one last private smile before entering the building.

They continue to spread the herb down the hallways until they reach the third floor, dumping the remaining shreds unceremoniously into the corners of the door frame. 

Lydia brushes her hands off onto her pants with a huff. "That should do it. He shouldn't be able to find you through that. "

"I'll put up a protection ward around the building just in case. Thank you."

The redhead pulls him into a firm embrace with no hesitation. He allows his best friend two minutes of literally breathtaking hugging before gently removing himself. Her green eyes are teary and sad as she gives his hand one last squeeze before turning on her heel and disappearing.

True to his word, Stiles sets up his equipment in the living room as soon as he closes the door. The stones are all humming excitedly as he places them in their intended positions, making their respective candles flicker to life faster than Stiles could blink. Magic had its perks, he'll give you that. The young mage loses track of time as he administers the spell to the complex, pushing the stones into a frenzy as the completely demolish their wax counterparts. But when he checks the clock it's well past midnight.

Once he's finished with the wards, Stiles cleans up with vigor. In fact, he's still scraping the remaining wax off the hardwood when he hears his phone go off. He ignores it in favor of staying on Lydia's good side and getting the wax gone before she can ever have the slightest chance of seeing it . When it goes off a second time, his resolve wavers slightly but he doesn't budge. On the third ring, however, he bounces the fuck up and answers it.

"What's up, Catwoman?"

"Batman!" Stiles leans away from the cell as her voice screeches through the speakers. "Where the hell are you?"

Stiles shrugs, even though Erica can't see him. "You know, places. Why, are you okay?"

"Can you name a specific place?"

"Erica, what's going on?" 

There seems to be a struggle on the other end and for a second Stiles panics. What is going on? Is his Catwoman alright? Is the pack under attack? Is he the last chance to save them? When the sounds stop and a different speaker comes on, his heart races for different reasons.

"Stiles, buddy, where are you?"

"Scotty?"

Scott chuckles. "Yeah, I got back from the Veterinary conference a week early. One month is too long to be away from pack. Anyway, what's going on, man?"

"What you mean?" Stiles blinks back his tears and throws himself onto the Lay Z Boy. "Everything is fine. "

A few beats pass by before he hears Liam shout, amidst the whispering voices on the other end of the line (Scott, Erica, and Malia for sure, the rest of the pack background noise), clear as day: "He wants a divorce!"

Silence settles on both ends.

"Scotty?" 

"Yeah, Stiles?"

"Why..." Stiles coughs before restarting. "Why did you really come back?"

"... I heard you left Derek."

Leave it to Scott McCall to drive three hours back home for a pack meeting filled with inaccurate information.

Time to break out the sarcasm.

"Yeah? Did you hear I was breaking the mate bond, too?"

A millisecond passes before a hellacious cacophony breaks out on the other end, filled with a mixture of gasps, screams, and "Oh, shit!"s. Then, louder than all that noise put together, an earsplitting, heartbreaking howl sounds. 

Stiles' eyes widen in horror as the other line goes dead. "Oh, fuck!"


	6. What Have I Become?

Agony. 

Pure, unadulterated agony is what he's feeling. 

Stiles didn't just leave him. Stiles wants to dissolve the bond. He wants to cut all ties with Derek.

Another howl rips it's way out of his throat as he runs, runs, runs the pain away. Except, he can't seem to outrun it. Can't seem to outrun the loss of another person he loves. 

Derek tears into the clearing almost three miles away from the Stilinski-Hale House, parking himself down next to the Nemeton in his full wolf form. He's been coming there to think for the past few weeks, trying to clear his head through the sheer power of the tree. It's grown nearly forty feet tall since the pack reburied the Nogistune there after it infected Stiles.

Stiles.

A high-pitched whine escapes him as he realizes the severity of the situation. Dissolving an average mate bond has the potential to be dangerous, with the possibility of one or both parties going insane. An Alpha Pair bond? Quite possibly fatal when taken away.

This shouldn't even be happening. Stiles should be with him at home right now watching reruns of Star Trek while they cuddle next to the fireplace drinking Mrs. Stilinski's famous apple cider. It's so good it doesn't even need to be cold outside for them to want to drink it. But instead they're here.

Falling apart.

Derek tucks his muzzle under his paws, shifting closer to the tree until his side is pressing against it. A tear threatens to leak out, but he's cried enough these past few days. He deserves to cry for what he's done, but he also needs a second to compose himself. To ponder his life choices. Why does everything he touches turn to dust? Or, to be more precise, ash? 

Why can't he do anything right?

A soft breeze dances through the clearing, brushing the grass and the fur of Derek's coat. Where it usually serves to calm him, what with his love of nature, it instead riles him up.

Maybe Stiles is the one with the problem. He can't seem to ever shut up. Always thinking he's some kind of genius, always asking for thanks and appreciation. What has he done for the pack?

A lot! The rational side of Derek screams, wondering where such ugly thoughts developed in his mind. Stiles is a wonderful mate and a loving husband, always helping when needed and comforting when wanted.

More like an irritating nuisance.

Derek chuffs, irate. What the hell is wrong with him? Stiles isn't a nuisance at all. 

Of course he's not anymore, not since he was slapped back into his place.

Fear floods through him with that nauseating thought, raising his hackles and alerting his wolf to danger. Something isn't right. Something is very, very not right.

The Alpha quickly darts up and away from the Nemeton, flashing his eyes and baring his teeth to-

The tree. A dark aura is glacially oozing from the ground around the tree where the roots would be planted. Where Derek had just been. It's sickeningly black with random swirls of red blooming across it like stab wounds. Derek releases a low growl, watching it slowly dissipate as he backs farther away from its persuasion.

Heartbreak, to the back burner with you.

Derek needs to call Deaton.


	7. Best Friends Are Meat Bags Of Love

"I need you to slow down, Stiles. Take a deep breath before starting over."

After an obscene inhale and an ever more obnoxious exhale, Stiles retells the entire phone conversation that had went down between himself and the pack. She nods at some points, rolls her eyes at others, and finally blanches when he ends on the howl.

"Jesus Christ, Stiles! Derek probably overheard and thought you were serious!" At his guilty look she gasped. "You WEREN'T serious, were you?"

Stiles furrows his brows and frowns. "Of course not! I just wanted a break, two weeks tops!"

The Banshee nods, pacing the length of the room. She'd arrived not even ten minutes after he'd texted her, out of breath but perfectly put together. Her periwinkle nails glitter prettily under the bright condo lights, making her look all the dangerous predator she is.

"Who all did you say was there again?" 

Stiles scratches his neck and mumbles, "Everyone."

She pauses in her pacing, glances at him, makes some conclusion, nods, and begins pacing again. Her route around the room is giving the mage motion sickness. He ambles into the kitchen and groans when he sees the clock above the fridge blink 3:01 am. Lydia has been counseling him for the past two hours.

"Stiles? What are you doing?"

The whiskey eyed man jumps, knocking over one of the glasses he'd just pulled from the cabinet. "Bells, Lyds, I swear to God if you and the others don't start making noise..." He gives her a dramatic jazz hands and hisses, "Bells!"

The redhead clicks her tongue as she uprights the glass and pours herself some of the aged wine hanging above the center island. "If you actually believe you have a chance in hell of getting a bell on me, you are SEVERELY mistaken."

Stiles chuckles and fills his own glass, earning a new stain in the process. After some extremely expressive flailing and bitten off revenge spells, Lydia directs him to the laundry room before doubling back to soak up the puddles of red wine forming on the kitchen's hardwood. He feels a bit bad, that is technically twice in one day he has accidentally fucked with her floors, but is swiftly sidetracked when he spills half the box of Oxi Clean on his socks. After many colorful words and half an hour of laundry scrubbing later, he walks back out into the main room with one of Derek's Henleys on. And, surprise surprise, someone has joined Lydia on the couch.

"Danny?"

The Hawaiian's head shoots up. "Stiles!"

Stiles all but runs across the room to give him a big ol' Stilinski hug. "How are you, man? It's been, what, six months, seven? How have you been?"

Danny smiles and squeezes him back. "I've been hanging in there. I've managed to move up to Club Manager at the Jungle while I'm attending BHU." The two men separate cordially, before returning to sit on the couch. "I'm going to hate giving it up when I transfer to Berkeley, you know?"

"Of course, bro. Congratulations on the promotion while you have it, though!"

Lydia clears her throat pointedly before speaking, "If you two are quite finished with the adorable bromance reunion thing you've got going on here, we have some important issues to discuss."

"Ain't that the truth," Danny sighs before directing his beautiful eyes at the other male. "Derek is looking for you, Stiles. Like, track-down-a-hacker-to-help-me-hunt-my-runaway-lover kind of looking."

"He found a hacker to locate me?"

Lydia rolls her eyes. He should tell her that one day they're just going to pop right the fuck out. "Danny IS the hacker he found."

Stiles whips his head around to stare at his friend incredulously. "Danny sold me out?"

"What? No!"

Two heads swiveled to stare at the man in question. "No?"

"Stiles..." Danny cracks his knuckles nervously. "He told me he hit you. Is that true?"

Stiles shares a long look with his best friend. Like, Arnold Schwarzenegger's dick kind of long. Eventually, though, he returns his attention to the hacker's nervous expression and whispers, "Yes."

The Hawaiian's disappointment is almost palpable.

"Unfortunately, that's why I didn't track you for him. I couldn't risk giving him the benefit of the doubt. Not when we were playing Russian Roulette with your safety. So, I just told him the signal stopped projecting halfway across the town, where I 'figured you dumped your phone,' if you catch my drift."

The young spark remains silent until, with a questioning rib prodding from Lydia, he faux swoons into his friends arms and crows, "You badass motherfucker!"

They laugh and after a few more lines of dialogue Lydia disappears to pour Danny a drink, leaving the two men alone. Stiles, preoccupied with the thought of how miserable his husband must be and what amazing friends he has, almost doesn't notice when Danny puts his hand against his cheek. When he startles, the Hawaiian pulls it back as if burnt.

"I'm sorry, I just... I can still see the outline. But only if I really look for it."

"Hm?" Stiles pulls his phone's camera up to check out his face. He's not really checking. "What's there?"

This display gets him a pitying look. "The bruise, Stiles. I can still see his handprint."

Stiles shrugs, not really in the mood for living in the past, especially when he wants to work things out with Derek. Danny appears about two seconds away from saying something, most likely words the mage won't want to hear, when Lydia rushes into the room. Her eyes are wild as they dart between the two males in front of her. They can practically see the gears behind them turning. 

"Lydia?" They ask in unison.

The Banshee sucks in a unnecessarily deep breath before rapid fire shooting information at them. "IjustgotacallfromJacksonandthereissomethingwrongwiththeNemetonanditmightbeaffectingDerekHale."

"Okay," Danny drawls, side eyeing her like she might be going nuts (which is always a possibility in BC.) "What do we need to do?" 

Lydia's emerald iris' hone in on Stiles' whiskey ones. "Games over, Sti. We won."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaahhhhh!!!!


	8. I Am The Shadow Of The Moon At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Chapter 4, everyone! I recommend reading it over!

"It seems you were right in calling me, Derek." Deaton lays a steady hand against the bark of the Nemeton, eyes evaluating. "There is definitely something negative here."

"Like what? Evil Nymph, Shadow Demon?"

The vet chuckles dryly, withdrawing his hand. "No, nothing of the sort."

Derek gives him his "get on with it" eyebrows. The druid remains hush hush.

"Are you going to explain anytime soon, or-?"

"Well, Alpha Hale, the problem seems to be that the box we buried the Nogistune in..." Deaton meets the Werewolf's gaze, "I believe it's leaking."

Derek blows out a long breath. Of course it would be leaking. Because nothing can ever go right in Beacon Hills. But maybe they can fix it...

"Can we plug it somehow?"

"Absolutely. We might even be able to flush the leakage out completely. "

Deaton stares impassive at the powerful tree while Derek glares darts of frustration into the side of his head. Seriously? Does the man know that Werewolves aren't telepathic? Before he can even open his mouth to wrangle more information out of him, someone beats him to it.

"Cryptic as always, Doc. How very Riddler of you."

The Alpha whips around so fast he stumbles a bit, eagerly drinking in his mate's face. It's been almost four days without him and he feels like he's becoming unhinged. There are dark half circles under his dancing amber eyes, from lack of sleep no doubt, but he's still perfect.

"Stiles, I said wait the fuck up!" 

Out of the tree line comes a very irked Lydia and... Danny? 

"Do not leave us to our own devices in the woods EVER again, or I swear to God I'll-" 

"You were literally ten feet behind me!" Stiles stares at his friend incredulously, earning an amused huff from Danny. "If anything would've happened all you'd need to do is open that mouth and scream the danger away!"

Lydia curls her lip. "What point are you trying to make, Magic Man?" 

"The realistic kind, Wailing Woman!"

"Mr. Stilinski, Ms. Martin." Both parties in question turn to face Deaton. "So glad you could join us. You as well, Daniel."

Derek is still gaping openly at his husband, feeling fifty shades of desperate. Is he here to dissolve the bond? Is he here to take him back? Is he worried about him? Will he let Derek touch him? If he could just get a little closer without anyone noticing, just one little touch couldn't hurt-

"Ahem," the Hawaiian clears his throat, none too subtly, and throws an arm around the mage's shoulders. The look he shoots the Alpha is one of ill concealed disgust.

A flicker of something comes to life in Derek's chest. Something all-encompassingly dark, possessive. It is born an ember, but grows steadily into a bonfire. A silent rumble starts up in his chest, developing into an all out roar as Danny tucks his friend into his side even more.

Four pairs of eyes snap to his face, but all he can see is his mate being kept from him. An answering roar sounds off in the distance, but Derek doesnt acknowledge it. He just wants to rip that limb right off of the Hawaiian, straight out of the socket, stuff it down the man's throat, let him choke on the harsh truth that STILES IS HIS.

Derek hadn't even realized he'd gotten closer until Stiles and Lydia are suddenly in front of Danny, tense and prepared to fight.

"Derek," Stiles hisses, hand up defensively. "Stand down."

For a second he wants to, sees the logic in doing what he says. After all, he doesn't want to hurt his mate. But then Danny is wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him back behind him and that's the last straw.

A clawed hand shoves the Banshee out of the way, towards an increasingly worried vet, before wrapping itself around the male's throat. "Don't touch my mate!"

"Derek! Stop!"

The Werewolf ignores his lover's pleas, intent on squeezing every last drop of life right out of-

A large mass tackles Derek from his right side, sending him crashing into the tree. He rolls to the side, snarling, lifting his claws to strike. He freezes when he comes face to face with Stiles, eyes glowing white and swirling, intricately woven tattoos mirroring that exact same glow.

His mate is on the offensive. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Derek knows he needs to stop. Doesn't really want to kill anybody, just wants to go home and curl himself around his husband. But an even bigger piece, a foreign, outraged slice of his mind is screaming "kill them all!"

Before the Alpha can lunge, he's thrown away by an unseen force, howling in pain as the anger seems to burn itself out. Horror dawns on him as he realizes that something had once again seeped into his mind, controlling his emotions. The mage is burning it out. Writhing and whimpering, Derek struggles to find his other half. Chanting in front of the tree, almost completely blocked from view by the wall of pack suddenly standing there, is Stiles.

He pushes through the raging agony in his body, his MIND, and begins to crawl forward. Scott, Ethan, and Boyd step to meet him, the rest of the crowd stepping together to fill the gaps. 

"Derek, stop."

The Werewolf meets the searching gaze of his co-Alpha and whines high in his throat. A flash of sympathy flashes across his features before it is wiped clean. The other two males cross their arms. Ethan looks especially pissed, standing directly in his path to Danny and the others.

"Stiles, do it now." Deaton says it with an edge of impatience, eyes flickering between the mage and the Nemeton.

Stiles nods once, jerkily, before placing his rune covered hands against the bark. Pitch black tendrils shoot out and attach themselves to his arms, slithering up to circle his neck and proceeding to wrap themselves around his torso. A surge of power blasts out from the tree and sends the group sprawling, with only Stiles left in the blood red ring surrounding the ancient tree.

Somewhere to the side, Lydia shrieks.


	9. Till Death Do Us Part

Oh, shit.

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit. 

Last time Stiles checked, twenty two was too young to die. Yet here he is, strapped to a tree having his life force sucked out like he's a fucking slurpee.

A wiser man would've knocked on wood. 

"Stiles!"

"You'll have to give me a moment, Scotty, I'm a bit tied up right now!"

The Werewolf ignores his best friend's attempts at humour and circles the magic ring, trying and failing to locate any points of entry. Stiles, in the meantime, tugs uselessly at the too tight bonds around his upper body. Fucking Deaton and his goddamn black magic.

Of course an expulsion spell wouldn't work! This is Beacon Hills, home of the nothing-ever-fucking-goes-our-way luck.

"Sti, everything is going to be just fine, okay? Nothing's going to happen to you, alright?"

The young spark laughs, rolling his head to meet the Banshee's worried eyes. "You won't be saying that when my body is nothing but a husk, now will ya?"

The redhead noticeably blanches and turns away. Deaton whispers something into her ear before dragging her over to the apprentice braniacs, Danny and Kira. The petite Korean is currently holding what appears to be an iced pillow around Danny's incredibly swollen neck. No wonder Ethan looks like he's going to murder a hoard of nuns, his husband did a lot of damage.

He'll have to send them a fruit basket when all this is over.

"Stiles! That's my MATE, get OFF me!"

Off to the side, Stiles' right to be specific, is an extremely pissed off Alpha Werewolf struggling against the hold of four Betas. From what he can make out through the hazy sheild those brave, idiotic Betas are Ethan, Boyd, Erica, and... Jesus Christ, is that Malia? When did she get back?

Returning his attention to Derek, Stiles notes that he's still human; a frantic, sweaty human, but human nonetheless. Stiles considers that a major win in the control department. However, as soon as Derek catches his bound husband's eye, he redoubles his efforts. Which means wolfing out. Idly, Stiles wonders why he can't just disappear to where his mate's eyebrows are.

"Baby, I'm going to get you out of there, I swear!" More gnashing of teeth followed by a nicely thrown elbow. " I demand you submit! He needs my help!"

Their scuffle of five makes little progress as the seconds tick by, while the other members of their oh-so-intelligent pack flutter about cursing and whining and being generally unproductive. Besides Kira, Deaton, Danny, and Lydia, no one really seems to know what to do with themselves. It really is a laughable sight... if you aren't currently wrapped in ghostly roots of evil, that is. 

Fed up with the erratic, senseless behavior of his adopted family, Stiles throws his head back and shouts, "Enough!"

One could hear a pin drop in the wake of his command.

Blowing out what can only be taken as a put upon sigh, Stiles mutters, "Oh, NOW they listen to me! I'm so glad to know that I'm only relevant when I'm being held hostage and getting my life energy drained by a goddamn TREE!"

Deaton is instantly in his line of sight, face calm, as he says,"Mr. Stilinski, I'm going to need you to repeat that. "

"Which part?" Stiles rolls his eyes heavenward as he asks, "The part where I'm chained to a tree or the part where I'm dying through lack of life force?"

There's a handful of yelps as Derek gathers enough strength to throw all four of his Betas off of him, making a beeline for Deaton. "What does he mean by DYING?"

Cora steps into his path and places a soothing hand on her brother's shoulder. If she were anyone else Stiles would fear for her. 

"Maybe we should let him figure it out before we tear his throat out, okay?"

Deaton remains stoic as he takes in the scene with a whole new outlook. The way the tendrils are curled, the position Stiles is in, how the mage's light seems to slowly be dimming. And just like that he knows.

"We have to let it eat you."

Fucking A.

The mage let's out an indignant squawk whilst the rest of the clearing erupts in chaos of the third degree.

"What the hell do you mean?" 

"Not happening!"

"Over my dead body!"

"You're insane!"

"I say why not."

Everyone in attendance, excluding Stiles, turns as one to glare at Peter. Ever the angel, he raises his hands palms up and shrugs. "Someone had to be the Devil's Advocate."

Derek swivels back around to get in the vet's space, baring his teeth menacingly. "You better explain yourself before I end your life!"

No one disagrees.

Deaton, ever the pacifist, bows his head respectfully before gesturing to Stiles. "You asked earlier if there was a way to stop this, flush it out even."

"Yes, I remember."

"Well," Deaton says, "this is the only way. The tree has already leeched itself onto your mate's light soul in order to counteract the dark energy leaking from the Nogistune's container. It helped that it had already used him as a vessel once before."

"No!" Scott flanks Derek, eyes flaring red as he growls, "That is not an option!"

"Uh, guys?"

Stiles shifts as he feels multiple pairs of eyes flicker his way. Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, he compiles what he plans to say in his head. His vision is already growing fuzzy around the edges, breathing now difficult.

"Scis hoc oportet fieri, Stiles." Deaton murmurs sadly. "Potest iuvari non possunt." (Latin translation: You know it needs to happen, Stiles. It cannot be helped.)

Derek shits his gaze between his lover and his Emissary. "What did you say to him?"

"Der, stop." The whiskey-eyed boy trembles as he leans his forehead against the bark of the Nemeton, feeling tired beyond belief. "It's over."

Outraged hisses and growls rip through the clearing, but Stiles is too exhausted to care. It's obvious to the others in the way his eyelids droop lower, his heart rate decreases, his skin pales. He is truly wasting away.

Derek is terrified, pushing against the barrier with all his strength to no avail. "Baby, just hold on. We're going to get you out of there, okay? Then we can go home, curl up, and watch some SciFi movies, alright? I'll even make you some homemade French toast!"

"No, Der... not this time."

"But Stiles," The Alpha sobs,"I love you!"

When no reply comes from his lithe half, the pack spurs into action, shoving against the magic boundary with all they've got. Others are crying too, at this point, some silently, like Erica, and some loudly, like Derek.

Who is currently screaming,"S-Stiles, I love you! Please hold on, I love you, I love you, goddamn it! W-why would you make me l-love again if you were just going to d-die on me?"

Amidst the wails and pleas of the pack, a barely distinguishable voice whimpers, "I love you more."

And then the walls are down and the pack rushes forward, surrounding the tree and removing Stiles from its reach. Derek only makes it seven steps before he's stumbling to his knees, desperately clutching his unmoving mate to his chest. Saltwater drops leaves trails down his cheeks as he gently shakes the other male, hiccuping cries increasing in frequency as he receives no acknowledgement.

"Derek," Deaton whispers, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "he cleansed the tree. You're all safe now, because of his courage."

This revelation brings forth a whole new wave of tears from the pack, minus Peter, though even he looks a bit put out. Scott brushes the back of his hand against his brother's cheek before allowing it to rest there. The rest follow suite, placing their hands on the nearest patch of Stiles they could reach. And, in unison, they lift their heads and howl. Howl for the lost brother, best friend, mate. The fallen soldier.

Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... should I bring in my last chapter or do you all want to cry into your ice cream a little longer?


	10. I Came To Win, To Survive

"Derek, you need to let go now." Cora is still wiping tears from her eyes as she jostles her brother's shoulder. "Der, please."

The chiseled Alpha snaps his jaw at her, clinging to the still warm body of his husband. She backs up, startled, and scurries back to join the rest of the pack mourning off to the side. Giving Derek his last moments to say goodbye.

"What are we going to tell the Sheriff? Stiles was all he had left!" 

Isaac puts a hand on Scott's arm, rubbing small circles into his jacket. "We'll tell him his son was a hero. It's the least we can do."

Scott sniffles and buries his face in Kira's neck. Liam, who knew Stiles the least, kisses Malia softly while murmuring small words of comfort. That she blatantly ignores. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay, Lyds." Lydia bats Jackson's hands away from her hair, choosing to plop down in Danny's lap instead. He understood better than her asshole of a boyfriend anyway. 

Deaton has long since disappeared, apparently not involved enough to stick around. Peter surprised everyone by staying, sitting roughly five feet from Derek's weeping form and watching the man with eyes full of sympathy. He would, out of everyone, understand the loss of a mate. His was murdered in a fire, after all. 

Behind the uncle and his nephew, the Nemeton stands dormant. No auras creeping out from its interior, no sign of the soul eating evil it has caged within. And maybe that's what hurts the most. There's no evidence of the monumental tragedy that just occured, no marker displaying his feat.

Erica, after coming to some silent conclusion, steels herself before marching over to where Derek sits. The Alpha halts his gentle rocking at her approach, bracing himself for what he assumes is the next removal attempt of his lover. She surprises everyone, though, when she slides down in front of him and twines her fingers through Stiles'. Derek eyes her warily, wanting nothing more than to snatch his fallen half up and away from them all, but he can't quite bring himself to.

In the end, he's not the only one grieving.

"There's something Stiles told me once," the blonde begins, stroking the mage's fingers, "I believe it was after my only friend died of leukemia, back in seventh grade." She blinks back tears at the memory. "I was bordering on a seizure, my panic at facing the student body alone enough to trigger me. While everyone else jeered at me, pointed at me, LAUGHED at me, this skinny little boy walked right up and knelt beside me..."

Erica bursts into tears. Boyd steps up behind his fiancée and places a solid hand in between her shoulder blades, smiling encouragingly at her. She visibly shakes herself, watches with miserable eyes as Scott relives the memory with her. While she went to school with damn near everyone in the pack, Scott was the only other member that had been present that day.

Wrapping her fist tighter around the limp hand of her deceased friend, she continues,"He said... God, he said, 'Erica, I know you're hurt. I know you want nothing more than to lock yourself away and hide for the rest of your life. But grief is the enemy. There's no time for grief. There's no room for grief. Grief turns into acceptance. Forgiveness. Grief forgives what can never be changed. What can never be helped.'"

"'So take a deep breath and lift your chin up, Reyes. You're so much stronger than this." Scott finishes, running a hand under his nose.

Derek has his eyes closed at this point, shoulders visibly shaking with the effort to hold in his sobs. Peter clenches his jaw, rises, and narrows his eyes at Erica before shaking his head and exiting the clearing. If anyone asks at a later time why he left, he'll simply say:

"I thought I smelled smoke."

Danny, accompanied by the Queen Bee herself, sidles up to Erica's other side. The swelling to his throat has gone down some, though not much. When the older Alpha locks eyes with him, he averts his gaze.

"It's makes sense," the Hawaiian whispers, "that it would be Stiles."

Lydia hums in agreement, face still tucked into his neck. A few feet away, Jackson can't find it in him to begrudge the pairs contact. He knows there's nothing romantic between his old best friend and his girl, just two friends mourning the loss to their three way bond.

"It makes sense because there's no one more willing to give it all up for family than him, though Derek rivals him grandly. He just gave 110% in everything he did. We were never an exception."

Ethan smiles sadly from his place next to Jackson, proud of the easy way his boyfriend speaks of one of his greatest friends.

"He was just so... just so..." 

"Perfect." Derek's voice cracks as a lone tear falls from his lash. "He was so perfect."

The pack bows their heads as he swings Stiles into his arms and stands up for the first time in hours. The raw emotion on his face is absolutely heart-wrenching. "He deserves a proper burial. Something big and rambunctious, just like he was He deserved everything in life, and now he deserves everything in death."

"I couldn't agree more, Alpha Hale, well said!"

Deaton steps lightly into view, hand cradling the elbow of a petite African American woman with a dark bob and shifty eyes. The pack falls into formation around the Alpha Pair instinctively. 

"No threat here, Wolves." The woman fastens the tie of her peacoat before slinging off the bag over her shoulder. Out of it she withdraws three crystals, a jar of black powder, and a box of matches. She shares a long look with the vet before briskly starting towards them. 

Derek snarls, curling himself protectively around his mate. The woman remains unphased, not a single stutter in her step. 

Both Alphas shift when her gaze locks onto Stiles. 

No one notices when Peter appears at Deaton's shoulder. No one notices when the Emissary is stuck in the back of his neck with the tips of very lethal claws.

They did notice, however, when Deaton passes out.

The undead Werewolf smirks and calls,"Let the witch do her job, children."

"Peter!"

"Relax, nephew," Peter strolls closer, stopping only once he's within arms reach of the woman. "I only took a quick peek inside his head, made sure of her intentions toward my nephew-in-law."

Scott bounds over to the unconscious body of his boss, leaving the others to defer to Derek. His teeth are bared, but he is human again. He smells uncertain and anxious, still slightly salty. "What does she want with him?"

The eldest pack member shrugs. "It's not want she wants with him, but what she wants FOR him. Though we won't appreciate her methods, we'll appreciate the end result."

"Don't trust him, Derek." Lydia tangles a manicured hand in her dead best friend's hair. 

"I agree with Lydia."

"Ethan, my boy, you'll agree if you want a complete Alpha Pair again." Peter grins. "But if you would rather let dead things stay dead..."

"Do it." Everyone turns to look at Derek, whose glare is currently trying to skewer the woman in front of him. "I don't care what it is, but if it can bring him back... do it."

She raises a dainty eyebrow. "You sure?"

He only hesitates a second before he's nodding. The Werewolf would do anything to have his mate back.

"Very well," She sighs, "Put him down. Legs together, arms apart."

The Alpha scrambles to do as intructed, placing his lover softly upon the grass before situating his body appropriately. She nudges his arms straighter with her foot, earning a warning growl from the pack. The loudest being Derek himself.

"Treat his body with respect, even in death, lady!" Jackson of all people hisses, moving closer. Danny slings an arm around his waist to hold him back.

The dark skinned sorceress carries on, unamused and unimpressed with their antics. Her eyes flit to the side, where no one stands. A series of emotions flicker across her face before she turns back to the problem at hand. In one smooth motion she's straddling the young man, careful not to actually rest her weight on him. His husband automatically tenses, just barely resisting the temptation of throwing her off him. 

Placing a crystal in each hand and one on his lips, she then unscrews the jar of dust. With steady hands she applies a triskele in the center of his forehead and matching lines running vertical down his arms. She then proceeds to dump a small portion onto his torso, carefully moulding it into another triskele over his heart. The witch rises to her feet after placing a chaste kiss to the corpse's cheek.

"Stand back, please!" She says, shooing them away with her arms. "You don't want to be near this ritual. Like, at all." She pauses, glancing off the the side again. "Stiles is specifically pointing to you, Mr. Hale."

Derek frowns. "Who's pointing to me?"

"Stiles, now MOVE!" The witch flings her arms out, sending them flying back. She begins to pace a circle around the spark, chanting in a native tongue while everyone gathers their wits enough to watch.

"Intuens autem in conspectu mundi alterum maritum mihi nostra reddituram pugillaria, amicus, frater!"

As soon as the last word spills from her lips she lights a match and throws it down unto the body. Cries and screams ring out as Stiles catches fire, many rushing forward to put it out. An invisible force flings them away, increasing their panic. Derek's there in a heartbeat.

"What have you done!" He roars, jerking her towards the flames. "Put him out!"

The woman hisses and yanks back her arm, eyes flicking to the left of him. "I told him and he didn't listen, now get the fuck back in your body, Stilinski, before I get ripped to shreds by a traumatized Alpha!"

"Make that two," Scott snarls, eyes glowing.

The pack closes in on her, supernatural creatures and humans alike. The witch is clearly beginning to regret her previous actions and she calls out for Deaton. The vet remains slumped over and unresponsive, Peter tracking his vitals with his enhanced hearing. 

The group has just closed ranks when a familiar alto slurs, "Talk about a headrush!"

Twelve pairs of eyes land on a the lithe frame of a young, confused mage struggling to stand. His clothes are fresh as ever, every part of him untouched by the magic flames. Dead silence falls across the clearing. Then Stiles trips and everyone bursts into action.

"Stiles!" They shout in unison, arms flying out to touch him. Derek is three steps away, leading the crowd, when his husband back peddles away from them. They stop, puzzled and a tiny bit hurt.

"Stiles," Derek's voice is ruined, eyes already misting. "Stiles, what's wrong? You remember me right?"

The man in question rolls his eyes, a watery smile playing over his lips. "Of course I do, silly. But you can't touch me yet. The ritual isn't complete."

"They were too busy preparing to kill me to listen," the witch grumbles, shoving past them and over to Stiles. She stares at him for what seems like years before shaking her head and throwing her arms around him.

"Thank you, Bonnie," the mage whispers brokenly, "You gave me back my life."

Bonnie pulls back and thumps him in the chest. "Yeah, well, I owed you one. Now don't pull shit like that again, you hear? I'm tired of having to walk around seeing ghosts just to save your ass."

They both chuckle before turning to face the others, who seem almost dazed, unsure if what they're seeing is real. Derek looks like he's barely keeping himself from tackling his lover to the ground. Scott and Lydia already haver tears streaking their cheeks in joy.

"Okay, guys," he sighs, opening his arms. "Come get me."

He doesn't have to say it twice.


	11. Two Weeks Later

"Babe, get off."

"No."

"Der-Bear, come on."

"Shut up."

Stiles sighs, running a hand through his mate's fluffy black mane. They haven't left the house in six days and he's beginning to go stir crazy.

"I'm hungry."

"I'll call something in from the diner."

Guess how most of that time was spent? Yep, cuddling in the bedroom. Cuddling meaning steaming hot sex and the occasional break in between where Derek would tuck his husband under him as he caught his breath. Because God forbid he go pee or something.

"Derek, it's been almost a week. This is ridiculous." He cups both of his mate's cheeks in his palms and presses a tender kiss to his lips. "I know you were scared, I know you still are. I was too. I was so scared I'd never get this again, never get YOU again. I didn't want to lose the life we've built."

A tear falls from Derek's lash, landing on the bare chest of the mage, who blinks back his own. "Baby... Derek, we've got to move on. Live our lives to the fullest, you know? We can't just hide from the outside world just because of some paranoia. The others miss me too and keeping the pack from their Alpha Pair is just plain stupid."

The Alpha nuzzles into his husband's neck, running a tentative tongue over the most prominent tendon. Just feeling the pulse point is enough for his inner wolf to settle.

"Stiles, I love you."

The mage laughs. "I know, Der, you haven't stopped telling me that since I got back."

The Alpha bites down on his pulse point gently before replying, "I just don't want you to forget that. I don't want to forget. The things I said, the things I DID... they weren't okay and I would never-"

"Derek, hey, baby, don't cry!" Stiles tightens his grip on his mate and peppers kisses over every part of him in reach. "Baby, I already forgave you. It wasn't your fault. I know what it's like not to have control. I know you didn't mean it."

The Werewolf nods, sniffling quietly as his sobs taper off. The mage continues to rub soothing patterns against his skin, humming happily. After Derek has collected his bearings, he turns his head to meet his lover's gaze.

"I still can't believe you found your witch friend as a ghost. That's so... insane. That she can just sense you're there and then open a link to see you. You should invite your friends to town more often."

Stiles chuckles quietly. "I don't think that would be such a great idea. Beacon Hills isn't ready for them yet. One day though, I'll show you. Show you what happens when a sixteen year old boy gets involved in a mess too big for someone like him. You'll see the kind of allies and enemies he makes."

"Have I ever told you," Derek muses, " that I find your mysterious side unbelievably sexy."

"No, but if you're trying to get in my pants it's working."

The Werewolf arches an impressively broody eyebrow. "I have to work for it now?"

"Don't worry, Loverwolf," Stiles giggles. "It's past the first date, I'll put out."

The older man kisses him wet and dirty before making his way down, leaving stinging, open mouthed kisses across his moaning lover's body. Both men settling in for what they knew would be another long, eventful day. Because Derek loves Stiles and Stiles loves Derek. 

So put out, he did.


	12. But Wait, There's More!

So, I'm starting the sequel now. Will be updating a chapter hopefully every one or two days. Keep watch, kiddies, because here comes the boom!

**Author's Note:**

> Small abuse trigger warning Chapter 4! Over quickly if you skim.


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